


There's Always Time to Believe

by consultingsmartass (consulting_smartass), LinaDH



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post-The Hounds of Baskerville, Post-The Reichenbach Fall, a bit angsty, henry being depressed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 02:41:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2252865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consulting_smartass/pseuds/consultingsmartass, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinaDH/pseuds/LinaDH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they were gone he went to rehab. After that well, you have to know that things are never easy for Henry Knight, but one thing is for certain, he never stopped believing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's Always Time to Believe

**Author's Note:**

> This story was posted in ff but it did't look right or the way I wanted, besides it has a podfic that the talented consultingsmartarse (check her tumblr!)did and I couldn't put the link right. (-whispers-it is at the beginning of the story)  
> So this was for the minibang of last year and now you can have it in here!

[Podfic](http://www.mediafire.com/download/x7pr37cmhmg9phm/There%27s+always+time+to+believe.mp3)

They were his salvation; they helped him with his unresolved life problem and to prove him right.

After everything that happened in Baskerville and Dartmoor he was grateful in ways that no one can imagine. Sherlock Holmes was a really good man in his opinion, even though he was a tad odd, but still, he trusted him and believed in him.

After they left he was admitted to a rehabilitation facility. He had been drugged most of his life and the hallucinations didn’t help him with his situation. Ms Mortimer wasn’t his therapist either.

He wondered if he could get out of this situation or if he’ll return to sanity ever again; even knowing that the feral dog was Robert, it keeps haunting him, in every corner or reflective surface, like it wanted to seek vengeance.

He had some privileges, he could use the landline to call his friends, but he didn’t have many, did he? So kept in touch with John, he was a nice block and his blog was interesting and he could ‘pretend’ that he had something else to do besides trying to get sane.

From time to time he called John and they had a decent conversation. He would ask how the cases are going or if he had a girlfriend or if he’s allowed to work at the clinic or if he had spoken to his sister and in retaliation John asked him things too like how he’s doing in rehab, if he had a friend there, or how he spends his time. Even though John wasn’t that kind of doctor he listened and was genuinely happy to hear that he had made some progress and at the end of each phone call or text message he thanked him and the doctor, ever humble, said he would gladly listen.

He was at the clinic, watching television -now that the effects of withdrawal were second to none- when he first heard the news.

Sherlock was a fake. He invented everything... this was wrong, was is true? That couldn’t be. He knew that he didn’t fake what happened in here, that would be insane. So he asked the nurse on duty. “Are this the news for today?”, and the nurse looked at him like they all looked at him out of late, with pity. “ Yes Mr Knight, this is the news for today, do you want to watch something else?”. He doesn’t say anything, he just shakes his head and goes back to the telly. He wanted to call John, he wanted to know from the horse mouth that this wasn’t true. The hound at some point was real for both of them, and he was interested in finding the source of it, he couldn’t fake that, could he? No, of course not! he was a scientist and a rational man, he calculates his every move and besides all that, he risked himself and John hunting the hound down. He had to be really crazy ...well he kind of was.

All of the sudden he felt ill, his head started pounding, he felt that his eyes were going to pop out of his head. He started to sweat, his vision began to cloud and tiny dots started to appear. His breathing was shallow, his chest was heaving so hard it hurt. There were voices calling for him but he heard them too far away to know what were they saying, but he could distinguish some words ATTACK. BREATH. KNIGHT ... **HOUND**.

What was happening to him, what’s happening to him, what’s happening, what’s happening, please shut up, please shut up, shut upshutupshutup, 

                                       j

                                             u

                                                       s

                                                               t

                                                                                  s

                                                                                         h

                                                                                                   u

                                                                                                          t

                                                                                                                            u  

                                                                                                                                       p

The hound is not real, not anymore, please, please someone ‘You think that I am not real?’ He heard a low baritone voice growling in his ear. ‘You think that I fake everything?’ The voice kept talking and when he finally could see straight he saw it. He saw a GIGANTIC HOUND in the middle of the room with all of them. How can nobody see it? It got closer, and Henry wanted to cry, to shout, but he couldn’t say anything, his throat was sore and raw and he didn’t know why. He heard someone scream and was thankful that someone had finally seen it. But it didn’t stop there, the hound kept getting closer and was in front of him now. ‘You think that I will leave you?’ it said. Henry was so tired, he didn’t understand. ‘You are quite wrong, boy’, the hound stood, it stood on its own two feet. ‘I will never leave this head of yours’, now it was morphing into, into... someone, was anybody else seeing this? He tried to look around, but he couldn't take his eyes of this... man. ‘You will never get rid of me boy, NEVER’ Sherlock was now standing in front of him. His eyes were bright red, like glowing blood dripping off this face.

Why, why is Sherlock here? Talking to him like he is the hound? ... No, that cannot be.

He was so tired, so tired s

                                              o

                                                       t

                                                              i

                                                                    r

                                                                            e

                                                                                d

Of everything and his head was spinning and he could hear his doctors speaking to him, something about something not being real and then he heard n  o  t  h  i  n  g. Silence, just plain silence and nothing more. And then everything was black. Finally, he could rest, everything was in order in his head and he could think clearly. Finally.

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He woke up in the room at the gentle buzzing that the white-noise machine provided. He didn’t feel rested nor did he feel tired, in fact, he didn’t feel anything.

His doctors said that he had a panic attack, and that he would be back to normal in a few days but that he dis not have the television privilege anymore because they thought that something on the telly was the trigger. Would it be right if he says what he saw on his ‘hallucination’? He didn’t like taking those pills anymore, besides they say that he was going to be fine, that his relapse was a onetime occurrence. He was hoping it would be just that time and nothing more, he was getting good results, in no time he would be out. He had to _make_ himself better.

Above all, he wanted to know if what he saw on the news was true, he wanted to call John, but they say that he couldn’t make any call in his state. That was absurd, he was feeling good, he was okay already, what else do they need of him? He was frustrated with the situation, all he did was answer their stupid questions about mundane stuff and he answered them truthfully, all except the questions about the hound, his hesitance was attributed to his lacking of memory of the hound and that he was _in fact_ getting better. Well, it was known that he didn’t have nightmares anymore and that his hallucinations were decreasing, but it was also known that he keep to himself some information. They asked, after all, Ms Mortimer everything they had to know about him.

God, his imprisonment here was tedious! Now that he noticed, he was surrounded by crazy people that did nothing else to babble about imaginary things and what had happened to others they swear happened to them. His doctors may believe that he is a child all they want, but he was sometimes grateful to have someone to talk to. The staff thought he was just another intern, another patient but at least they were nice to him.

After a few weeks of this numbness and boring situation the only thing he wanted to do was to get out of there. A month has passed since he had seen the telly and therefore his relapse, they started to give him more doses to sleep and stronger medicine. He no longer dreamt. He hadn’t dreamt about the hound since that day, nor did he dreamt about anything, his nights were endless canvas of nothingness. He didn’t even remember what he saw on the news that day. His doctors have said that he was improving, so he believes it.

He has a new therapist, and she asked the same inane questions that his other psychiatrist asked. He was feeling fine, he no longer had headaches, he felt rested, well kind of, he doesn’t remember what happened when he was a child in the moor and that he was sorry for Robert, after all, he didn’t deserve to die that way. He believes in redemption, if he wasn’t like that he probably would have say no to rehab.

But then she asked something that no one have asked before. She asked about Sherlock and John. She wanted to know who they are, and why are they are important to him. He didn’t answer right away.

“Why do you want to know that?”, he asked a little apprehensive.

“You know I just want to help you Henry, and if I’m going to do that I have to know these things”, she said calmly, like she was dealing with a child.

“They are friends”, he said curtly,

“Just friends?”, he didn’t know why she say it like that but it sounded wrong.

“What do you mean just friends? Of course they are, I used to call John when I could, but they don’t let me use the phone anymore”

“And why is that?”

“What?”

“Why don’t they let use the phone”

“They think I’m a child and that anything will hurt me or trigger a panic attack” he was explained that much.

“Are you?” she asked with a little smile that did nothing to reassure him.

“I’m what?” he spat, he was getting frustrated.

“Do you think that they should treat you as such?”

“Of course not! But there’s nothing I can do to change that, can’t I?”, he didn’t want to fight his doctors, he wanted to get out, but not that way.

“Did you talk about this with your other doctors?”, she asked writing something on her chart.

“No I didn’t! How could I!?” he raised his voice a little.

“There’s no need to raise your voice Mr. Knight, it was just a question”, she wrote a little note in her chart.

He didn’t say anything more; he didn’t need to say anything more. What is she writing? Is she writing something good or bad? He had raised his voice, but that’s nothing unusual.

“I’ll ask you again, what are Mr. Holmes and Mr. Watson to you”

“They.Are.Friends” this was going nowhere. He put the heels of his hand on his eyes, he didn’t want to think anymore, and took a large breath and then continued to let it out.

“The ones that helped you long ago?”

“Yes, those are the ones, Sherlock is a detective a really good one” he said, but he didn’t move, he kept his hand on his face.

“You are saying that Mr. Holmes explained to you that the hound was not real” it wasn’t a question.

“No, he _prove_ that the hound wasn’t real”, he sighed. “It was Robert, my father’s friend, all along” didn’t that say something about him? He finally say it, and without remorse. “If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t be here” ... wait... that came out wrong...something, no that definitely came out wrong, he didn’t mean it in that way. “Wait, no, that was--”

“I understand”, she was calm while she wrote god knows what at the end of the page she was on.

“No, you don’t, that’s not--”

“Mr. Knight, I understand that you are feeling upset but--”

“I said that.you _.don’t!_ ”, he stood up and looked down at his doctor. “They helped me, they proved me right. They _saved_ me. Sherlock found out the truth after all, that’s why I came to him, for help, and he did everything in his power to solve the mystery of the hound. He protected me when Robert came after me. He discovered the drug that was in the fog, he went to Baskerville for answers!”, he knew he was yelling at this point, but he couldn’t stop. “What else do you wanna know! I’m not here for them, I’m here because I want to get better, because I _want_ to!”, when he finished his speech he was panting, his chest heaving like he had ran a marathon. Never in his life had he lost his temper like that. Before it was because of the drug, but now it was all him, and he feel kind of embarrassed for doing it. “I’m sorry... that was uncalled, is just-is just that I’m tired...I’m always tired”, he sat down feeling exhausted while he mumble more apologies.

“It’s ok Mr. Knight, but allow me a last question”, she was really calm and collected.

“Yes, yes, of course, sorry”

“Did you know that Mr. Sherlock Holmes was a fake?”, she said looking at him with a blank expression.

“Pardon?”, he must have heard wrong.

“Recently”, she said closing her chart. “It was revealed that the one and only consulting detective was a fake. He invented every case that concerns the press, and that his ‘deductions’-” she said the word in distaste “-were pure inventions of his fevered mind. It was in all the news and newspapers. Richard Brook, the actor he hired, denounced him because he had been threatened by him and his well-being was at stake. So tell me Henry, do you believe that all that happened at that time wasn’t just coincidence, except for you delusions, that Mr. Holmes didn’t have anything to do with the results of your experience?”

“What do you mean?”, she couldn't possibly be saying what he believe she was saying.

“Mr. Holmes, as he did in London, must have faked his information and paid the people at Baskerville”

“What about Ms Mortimer, she had been with me since before I went to him for help”, he rubbed his hands over his face.

“She must had been easily persuaded”

“Why are you saying this? Sherlock is not a fake, he wouldn’t do that”, he was certain of it... well sort of.

“Do you like to believe that?”, he sat straighter.

“Of course-I mean, he couldn’t fake something like that, he saw the hound for god’s sake!”, that, also, came out wrong.

“But, the hound was fake, and he must have lied to you, just to play with your mind”

“Why, why are you saying all this”, he wanted to disappear, to shrink until nothing of him was left, so he bent and put his head over his knees then he proceeded to hug them. “Why do you keep saying the opposite of what I believe”, his voice was muffled by the fabric of his trousers.

“Because maybe it was Mr. Holmes's fault after all that you have been admitted here”, she stood up and gathered her things and went to the door. “I want to help you Henry, but I don’t want to lie to you, and I won’t, you’ve been doing great till now and I won’t let it get ruined because some random guy decided that you were someone he could mess with”, she clenched the hand she had on the doorknob and cleared her throat and tried to softener her voice. “I’ll see you tomorrow, try to rest”, she closed the door and left him there. She said some harsh things and he didn’t even know why. He didn’t want to speak with her about it anymore, he was hoping that tomorrow it would be better...but he didn’t sleep- just nodded off, sometime in the early morning - or move from the chair and his body wouldn't be grateful about that in the morning.

And indeed, Henry woke up to a tender tap of a bird on his window. He groaned and stretched his arms above his head yawning loudly and then he proceeded to rub his abused back and legs. With a heavy and tired sigh he leaned back against the chair and scrubbed his hands across his face and rubbed the back of his forefinger hard on his eyes to take the sleep away, he wasn’t ready to see his psychologist just yet but he figured that he had to, he had overcome his worst problem already, why not this? He will just have to talk to her and try to get his temper under control.

So then, he decided he would have a walk before and stressful session with his doctor. He changed his clothes -he wasn’t in a mood to shower- and walked out of his room. Given his night terrors he couldn’t keep a roommate, other people were worse than him or simple couldn’t stand him. So he made his way to the general area where everybody must be at this time… wait, god he didn’t know the time! The sun was up and bright, why nobody has come for him? No wait, he didn’t even know the date! So he hurried a little bit and surely he found the people from his group therapy near the reception, reading.

Sandra, Tom and Leonard were laughing over a magazine when they notice Henry. “Hey Sleepy head, did you sleep in?” Sandra asked walking towards him. “Kinda, I just oversleep a little bit, I guess”, he say it rubbing the back of his neck. “Did you forget that today is ‘free of everything’ day?”, Tom asked from the couch. Well that explained everything. They continued talking about what they are going to do and what are they gonna do for the day after tomorrow because you have to bring a relative to talk about your problems... or something like that, he wasn’t interested in that, not now at least.

The thing was that at first, it was really difficult for him to open up to other people. When he first recurred to a psychologist he was afraid that they might not believe him, that he was in fact crazy, but boy he was stubborn. Well until he found Ms Mortimer, with whom he was making progress. But here it was different, everyone had a story, an embarrassing story, one that they didn’t want to tell cause it would make people think differently about them, and everyone was apprehensive about what they said in the group therapy.

Sandra was an alcoholic. She had troubles at home, because she couldn’t control her drinking and her mother is bedridden so she didn’t know everything her daughter did but for her younger daughter. Sandra’s little sister, left the house when she married but always come back from time to time to check on her mother and to find what her sister had done with her life. Sandra said she came to therapy because she made a scene at her wedding and everyone was fed up with her and no one wanted her anymore. So she took a sensible decision and now is trying to ‘cure’ herself so she could return to her mother’s and have a decent life. Tom was a drug addict. He’s a single father, his girlfriend left him after she had the baby, and all the money he had he threw it away on drugs and nothing for the baby, so social workers came and step in taking his baby with them programming this therapy for him. Do not be so hard on him, he wants his son back and he is trying his hardest to be clean. Leonard, he has OCD and had a severe depression that led him to alcoholism. He never said what led him to have depression, but his problems with the drink had him on the hospital twice a week. His older brother talked him out for a bit, but he just couldn’t deal with the world anymore, at least that's what he said, until in one drunken night, while he was outside his flat and couldn’t find his keys, he heard a little whimpering noise, he didn’t know exactly where, but he followed that sound and found a cat having a litter. He said that in that moment, he couldn’t feel anything that wasn’t happiness, and since then, he decided to sober up and give his lovely cat Amelia a good life.

And here he was, being obtuse to try to trust someone else, he was doing really great, and he didn’t exactly have a problem with drugs, because that drug, that stupid fog, was noxious not addictive, but he did have a problem with withdrawal. At the end he found solace in this group and he no longer found it pointless, and those three people were people that he could call friends, even though it’s been a short while, he could at least trust them with this fear of him.

“What are you doing after your session?”, he was pulled off from his musings by Tom’s voice. “I think I’m gonna lay down a little bit”, he didn’t know what else to say; he wasn’t in the mood for company. “‘s alright, mate. If you need anything, you know where we are”, Leonard patted him on the shoulder before leaving to do whatever they were going to do.

God, he was so pathetic... Why couldn’t he just say it? I’m not afraid of the hound anymore, I’m not afraid of the hound anymore, I’m not afraid of the hound, I am not afraid. I.AM.NOT.AFRAID.OF.THE.HOUND. There, I say it. Now all I have to do is tell all this to Ms Collin.

He was heading to his dorm when an orderly stopped him. “Dr. Collin wants you in her office”, he was a kind man, with a soft voice. “Thank you, I’m heading there then”. He walked slowly; every inch of his body weighed a ton, he wasn’t ready to see his psychiatrist, he wasn’t ready to see anyone. He feared that all this, all these situations, all this emotions were going to led him to another problem that he might not be able to get out. He sighed loudly and stood in front of the doctor office for a good three minutes before entering.

“How are you then Henry, please sit down”, His therapist said without looking at him.

“Fine, you?”, he said sitting down, not looking at her either.

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you Henry”, she said laying her eyes on him.

“I’ve been told”, he was dying for a cigarette.

“Here, take a look at this”, she handed him a newspaper.

“What’s this?”, he took it and read the front page. It was Sherlock, and with simple white letters is says ‘Fake Genius?’ “What’s this”, he repeated a little harshly.

“That’s what I was talking about yesterday”, she said reclining on her chair.

“We weren’t talking about this”, he let the newspaper fall to the ground.

“Of course we were”, she smiled at him and showed him a calendar, “Do you know which day it is today?”

“Yes it’s Sunday”, he looked over the calendar and saw a red circle on today’s date.

“Yes it is, but today marks two months and a half that you have been with us”, now that she mentioned, he hadn't taken notice, does time goes that fast?, “ And I wanted to talk about what’s coming for you now”…what does she mean?

“What do you mean?”, oh he said that out loud.

“I mean that in this two months you’ve shown progress and the medications that we gave you are no longer needed, unless the case arises”

“So what then, can I come back now? That’s what you mean?”

“Yes that’s exactly what I mean, we will prescribe you pills and you will have to see a therapist twice a week, at first, then we will see if we continued with the sessions”, she was writing down now, something on another notepad.

“Oh…” that was really coherent Henry, “Okay, good, alright, I can do that, that’s…that sounds fine actually, when is my last day then?”, has it really been that long, two months?

“We will perform the last few test in the week, when the result are ready I’ll let you now”, she smiled and for the first time it seemed genuine. He went to his dorm and lay down on his bed to take a nap when he woke up, he was going to tell the guys, now he needed to clear his head. So many things were happening without his knowledge, without his consent, without him being involved. Why couldn’t he just rest, and dream, and have a relaxed life? What'd he do with John? He needs to talk to him… maybe when he’s back at home, now it’s time to forget.

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The test were boring and the results came two weeks later, giving him the green light to return home. At the end he told his friends and they throw a little goodbye party for him. He had their numbers and they will stay in touch. Now he’s back at home, everything is the same, except for him.

The first thing he did was sleep the most he could, without medicines, without anything. He wanted to feel rested, so he left everything at the lounge and went to his bedroom. When he woke up he decided it was time to do a little research, he called John first but he didn’t answer neither the flat nor his mobile. Well he’ll have to try later; now, he opened his laptop and searched for what happened with Sherlock and all this fakeness. What he found wasn’t nice, all the media was attacking them, what where they up; Just the two of them against the rest of the world. Well that’s how things were. He went to John’s blog, but the last thing updated was his case… What now? He sighed and reclined on his chair to look at the ceiling, what’s what he going to do now? Maybe it wasn’t his place to intrude into this, the world was against it, so why don’t give it a rest? It would hurt, but he was more worried about his mental health at the moment.

Henry gave the matter a rest, and instead decided to focus on himself, and what to do to obtain and keep a routine. A week has passed without results, he need company…maybe he has to get a pet, a dog, a hound… he’ll need more time to think. So, he was in his bedroom reading when the doorbell rang; his doctor? So early? He went to the door and found Ms Mortimer standing on his doorstep.

“Ms Mortimer, what a surprise”, he greeted her.

“Henry, how good to see you”, she looked tired and sad, why sad?

“Do you… do you want to come in?”, he stepped aside to make room.

“Yes, sure”. She entered but her gaze lingered on Henry.

“I’ll put on the kettle, coffe or tea?”, he went to his kitchen while Louise sat down in the island.

“Tea, please”, she never took her eyes off from Henry.

“It’s something the matter?”, he said a little uncomfortable, he never was around her but she seems a little off.

“There’s something I need to tell you”

“Okay…you can tell me anything”, he said placing a teacup with a bag of tea in front of her.

“I don’t know if I can. You’ve just came back and I don’t want to bother you with more problems”, she started to toy with the mug not looking at him.

“Why does everybody thinks I’m made of glass? I’m not a child, I can handle things”, he knew that he put the mug a little hard on the table, but he was getting tired of these talks.

“But you don’t seem aware of it, if not, you would have asked”, the kettle was ready and he went to the kitchen again .

“Aware of what? What should I be asking?”, he poured the boiled water into the mug looking confused at her former doctor.

“Henry” she said softly “Sherlock is dead”, she look at him dead in the eye, watching, observing, and cataloging his every move.

“I beg your pardon?”, he must have misheard her.

“Sherlock, your friend, is dead. He committed suicide. I’m sorry Henry but I thought you should know, that’s why I came”, she looked at her mug and took several sips.

“You are not joking”, he said flatly.

“No, I’m not”, she turn to her bag and took out some papers. “It was all over the news but I didn’t see anything from you in here, they say that he was a fake, but I believe that you wouldn’t agree with that and I assumed that you would have said something, but I came to the conclusion that you didn’t know and I’m sorry”, she looked at him with tender eyes, but she wasn’t about to cry. He read the front page that says ‘Suicide of a Fake Genius!’. He froze, it was true. Sherlock had died and he was a fake…

Louise left after that and Henry was left with numbness. He didn’t know what to believe, it was like the question his therapist had asked him back then. By the time he snapped out of his daze he turned on his laptop and went to John’s blog, and there it was May 16: ‘He was my best friend and I'll always believe in him’. No, Henry was wrong, he has made a decision long time ago and this just reaffirmed it. He had to do something about it, he’s not going to sit down and watch from afar. Ha had to do something for his friend, and he knew just what to do.

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It has been almost two years, almost. He had been traveling from Dartmoor to London giving interviews and testimonies. John and that detective Lestrade were cleaning his name the best they could and so was Henry. He knew that he had more credibility and so he spent most of his time sending e-mails and text to everyone who would listen. Obviously he didn’t meet with John, he didn’t want to bother the man, he was more than exhaust with the whole thing, and he had a new life now, he didn’t want to be imprudent. He did leave a message on his blog though.

Today he was going to meet with a guy who was leading a ‘secret society’ that believe in the detective and he wasn’t going to lose anything going there. He had talked to the guy over the phone and via blog, Anderson something was his name. So he dressed accordingly to London weather and took a cab. The man in question was nice enough, a bit disheveled but eager to know his story with Sherlock and John. They talk about them most of the conversation, some of the others member of the group were there too, and he talked with everyone, they have different motives to be there and even though some of them were really fanatics, he didn’t judge. Time went flying and he had to go. When he was leaving more people came in and he decided to walk a bit before going back to his hotel room. London was a beautiful city, a bit grey but lively, if he weren’t in love with Dartmoor he would happily live in London.

He was walking, deciding if he was going to stop and take a coffee or have lunch when his mobile went off. He wasn’t tired but some people were persistent, so he let the message unread and entered a little coffee shop, he was about to order when his mobile went off again, and again and again, it didn’t stop ringing so he took it out from his jacket and unlocked it. 36 messages, one phrase _#sherlocklives_.

What? What was that? He stood in the coffee shop reading all the information when he came to a stop. He was alive, this wasn’t a joke, Anderson texted him. Oh God, oh god, it was like a miracle, a real miracle! “Sherlock is alive!” he shouted and went running out the store, where? He didn’t know, he wanted to run, so he did.

He had read the last post of John, but this changed everything. He has to know, he must know, but how… It didn’t matter, the only thing he wanted to do was to run, and keep running, Sherlock was alive. Anderson was right, all this time he had been fighting crime. It didn’t matter at the moment that he didn’t tell anyone, later, much later he will have to explain, but now, Henry wanted to be free, he wanted to feel free, and he wanted to express his happiness. To express that he believes in Sherlock Holmes, he wanted to express that he wasn’t a fake that his work was credible, reliable, that he was, that he _IS_ a good man. So many emotions, all of them contained and he wanted to let them all out. So he kept running until his legs and lungs couldn’t go further and then he whispered to himself, like a secret, he whispered “Sherlock Holmes is alive”. With a huge smile he went back to Anderson’s, they would have a lot to talk about now.


End file.
